


until you hold my hand

by concertconfetti



Series: Witchertober 2020 [7]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Witchers (The Witcher), Anxiety, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Easter Eggs, First Dates, Gardens & Gardening, Holding Hands, M/M, Nerd Dates!!!, Texting, Witchertober (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26999323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concertconfetti/pseuds/concertconfetti
Summary: Do Witchers go on dates? Ashwood doesn't know, exactly, but he finds himself waiting for a Wolf Witcher on a bench in a crowded park on a spring afternoon anyway. And that might be okay.
Relationships: Eskel (The Witcher)/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Witchertober 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952140
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15





	until you hold my hand

**Author's Note:**

> written for witchertober day 11 - hands
> 
> set in the same universe as "you crossed my mind"

Ashwood shifts anxiously on a bench in one of the many gardens around Crow’s Perch. He and Aiden didn’t travel much anymore as a rule - they’d only leave home for longer hunts if the money was _really_ good. And, to make matters worse, this isn’t a hunt. It was a… a date? Did Witchers go on dates? Ashwood’s leg bounces uncontrollably as he looks around the garden, trying to spot Eskel. They were supposed to meet here, at this bench, in this garden in the early afternoon. Of course, Ashwood arrived about an hour early - Eskel wasn’t due for another fifteen minutes. 

People pass by at a lethargic pace - it’s a fine spring day, and the first flowers are starting to bloom in the magically contained gardens. Sun shines through the thin layer of grey clouds, and to a Witcher’s eyes, everything glows with the remainder of the morning dew. Ashwood fumbles with his phone, anxiously reading back over his text messages. 

**Esk**  
you been to the gardens before?

no, actually. crow’s perch doesn’t usually pay well

**Esk**  
oh  
okay my original planned meeting spot  
isn’t gonna work then  
there’s a bench in the central garden under  
a cherry tree. meet there at 1?

sounds extremely saccharine. i’m in

One in the afternoon. It was twelve minutes to one, and even then most people were usually a little bit late. That meant seventeen more minutes before he could reasonably text again. He sent a message thirty minutes ago -

here very early  
[cherrytreeselfie.jpg]

**Esk**  
so early - i'll see if i can pick  
up the pace  
especially since you're cute

Every time his eyes skate over that last message, Ashwood's chest seizes with a sort of warm static that spreads through his arms and makes his face feel a bit like it’s burning. He met Eskel a few weeks back on a siren job in Novigrad - the client hired both of them, assuming Witchers killed their competition. Instead, Eskel managed to knock a siren out of the sky as it screamed down towards Ashwood’s back, and Ashwood tackled an echidna that unexpectedly reared up as Eskel went to behead one of the corpses. They divided up the trophies and went to the client’s storefront together for payment (and gave the client a friendly reminder not to fuck over one Witcher, let alone two). 

“You got a place to stay for the evening?” Eskel asked Ashwood as they left Hierarch Square. When Ashwood shook his head, Eskel smiled and gestured down the road. “My brother’s partner owns a tavern down the way; I’m sure he’ll give you a fair rate for a room. And I can buy you that drink I owe you.” 

They’d spent a lovely evening chatting in the only quiet corner of the Chameleon (which, unfortunately, featured a bizarre portrait of the owner, Jaskier, killing a forktail with a spear) and exchanged numbers. Ashwood figured, maybe, he might be able to hit Eskel up for help on hunts in the future. It was a surprise then, when Eskel asked him out on a date. 

“You’re going,” Aiden said emphatically, already up and moving and looking through Ashwood’s clothes. “You’re going and you’re going to hold hands with the idiot and fall in love and shit.” 

“But -” 

“Lambert and I have a hunt this weekend in Kaedwen, anyway,” Aiden says, tossing casual outfits onto the futon. “He said Crow's Perch gardens? Romantic as fuck that place. You’ll have a great--- Ash?” He waves a hand in front of Ashwood’s face, snapping his brother out of whatever daydream stole his attention this time. “What do I have to repeat?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Ashwood said - he’d gotten the gist. “Let me - I’ll text Eskel and then you can make me try on shit.” 

And now Ashwood is on a bench under a fucking cherry tree, petals dancing in the early spring breeze, shivering slightly in his tank top and jeans (Aiden’d insisted: “how else will you steal his sweatshirt, this is _basic romcom shit_.”) He’s retied his boots four times now - the first time because something was pinching his ankle, the others so he had something to do with his hands. Ashwood digs his earbuds out of his pockets and makes a valiant attempt to listen to _something_ , and pulls his legs up onto the bench. After two rounds of skip-shuffle-skip, Ashwood frowns. It’s one o'clock, maybe it would be alright if he sent something short - 

“Having difficulty picking a song?” Eskel asks; Ashwood’s head snaps up so fast, his headphones ripped out of his ears. Eskel’s eyes go wide and he crouches in front of Ashwood as the half-elf winces. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t - didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“Nah, it’s my fault,” Ashwood says, gently rubbing at his ear. “Shoulda heard you coming.” He smiles as the shock fades and he feels that same warm static in his chest when a smile brakes through the worry on Eskel’s face. 

“As nice as you look sitting here, there’s uh… something in one of the smaller gardens I’d…” Eskel pauses, running a hand across the back of his neck. “Well I thought you might like seeing. The garden, that is.”

“And the thing in it?” Ashwood asks; Eskel winces this time, but a weight lifts from his chest as Ashwood breaks into light, airy laughter. “I’m sure the garden itself is lovely,” he says with a grin, “why don’t we start there?” 

There was a time where the presence of a Witcher - let alone two - caused quite the commotion in public spaces. While things weren’t perfect (there were always people who couldn’t see past the mutations Witchers were forced through), most people couldn’t spot a witcher on site. This meant Eskel and Ashwood could take their time in Temaria’s gardens - the one they met in was themed after a country to the west, centered around a cherry tree gifted to Temaria as a gift celebrating their renewed independence from Nilfgaard. There are large ponds filled with fish, water lilies and the occasional turtle, ringed round with newly budding maple trees and young cherry saplings. Evergreen bushes line the stone paths that weave through the hills - Ashwood spots (and points out) Falsecypress, Hemlock, and Wolfsbane as they make their leisurely way toward a smaller garden near the woods. 

“If none of these plants are native -” 

“Wolfsbane is native,” Ashwood interrupts, before flinching. “Sorry, you knew that. And I interrupted.” 

Eskel hums, and when Ashwood actually looks at him, his expression is fond. “That happen a lot?” he asks, shifting half a step closer. It’s barely noticeable as they walk, but Ashwood is certain he’s gotten closer. His right hand flexes involuntarily. 

“Yeah, I’m uh. I’m working on it,” Ashwood replies. “It’s uh. I think most folk would call it ADHD but you know mental health is in our profession.”

“Bad,” Eskel says simply and Ashwood lets out a startled laugh. Eskel bumps his shoulder against Ashwood’s as they walk and he thinks he feels Eskel’s pinkie brush his own. “Anyway,” Eskel says, exhaling a bit harder than normal, “how do they keep the non-native plants alive?” 

“Depends,” Ashwood says, swallowing briefly around the anxiety building in his throat. “Nilfgaard’s been known to dig out a garden outline and fill the resulting hole with soil from the plant’s native home, then shore that up with magic. Given this garden in particular -” Ashwood gestures back at the main pond as they head toward the treeline “- was a gift celebrating independence, my guess is the soil was replaced only as deep as the plant roots need to be once planted. So mostly magic. Gods, working in a garden like this would be a dream.” 

“Really?” Eskel’s eyebrows rose. “Not being a Witcher?” 

Ashwood laughs, bright and shining tidal pools of laughter. “I don’t know about you,” he says through giggles, “But I didn’t exactly choose this life.”  
“They didn’t beat a love of it into you?” It’s a statement that could carry a lot of darkness, and in most contexts, it does. But here, now, in the sweet spring air among various and sundry displays about the history of Crow's Perch and the gardens (more informative plaques than you’ve ever seen outside of a museum), it sounds like the joke Eskel means it to be. Ashwood grins. 

“Nah, we got to have dreams,” he says lightly, “it’s more tragic that way.” 

Eskel’s laugh is deep and oaky and melodic and Ashwood would willingly drown in its waves. He turns his head to hide his idiotic grin, pretending to read the sign about the garden Eskel’s steered them to. It’s ancient, in bad need of repair, but indicates it’s a medicinal garden. Ashwood’s breath hitches slightly, the red splashed across his face deepening when he feels pinpricks of warmth on the small of his back. 

“You’d… you’d mentioned you dabble in medicine when you can. When we..” He trails off and clears his throat. “L-last time we talked. If I’d known you also liked gardening I might’ve suggested an earlier meeting time.” Eskel’s hand falls from Ashwood’s back, but he’s still close and Eskel brought him here because he _listened_ while Ashwood rambled about salves he’d been working on and oh. The back of his hand brushes against Ashwood’s and its enough of a hint, they all were, and Ashwood hooks his pinkie around Eskel’s, turning and smiling at him, and Eskel grins, adjusting their hands and knitting their fingers together. 

“We’re gonna be here a while,” Ashwood says, and pulls Eskel into the small, quiet garden.

**Author's Note:**

> title from Swing Life Away by Rise Against
> 
> Also including a very self-indulgebt nod to KHansens's 'Silent Cypress" (link forthcoming)


End file.
